


A Special kind of Stuck

by TheDarkSide



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, M/M, Multi, Summoning, Violence, well fuck
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-05
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-08-19 10:40:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16532999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDarkSide/pseuds/TheDarkSide
Summary: Tobirama has learned to cope with experiments misfiring. When he's faced with an untested Hiraishin tag doing so in the middle of battle, he would adapt and overcome. It's unfortunate that he seems to have summoned something unearthly. He is NOT equipped to deal with the occult.





	1. Prolog

He’s making his eighth cup of coffee for the day when it happens.There’s a sickening lurch, a sideways twist and a flash of light-dark. A pain in his abdomen -he’s been stabbed and it’d have been a mortal wound at that- and the silvery blade of a sword goes diagonally through his belly. He’s on his own two feet with damp grass between his toes and water vapour is condensing on the reflective lenses of his glasses. He’s had far too many people try to kill him to worry about the blade running him through, so he simply twists and wrenches the weapon out of his attackers hands. There’s another person with them in the fog, dressed in dark robes and gripping a sword of their own. A loud shout of “Izuna!” draws his attention to his surroundings. A black haired man -no older than twenty five, so a child in comparison to him- darts through the mist and takes a broad sing at him with the strangest boat paddle he’s ever seen. It’s caught with one hand, the other is still holding his mug of coffee.

 

It’s deathly quiet, but he can smell other people. Overpowering their scents is that of blood, bile and the distinct odour of internal organs being exposed to sunlight and a hot fire. It smells of war and despite the very special qualities of the charcoal grey coat he’s thankfully still wearing, it’s starting to strip him of humanity. He can feel that itchy crawling feeling on his face and arms that means he’s losing it, and that he’s in for a lot of pain if he doesn’t get get a grip soon. He yanks the oar and its wielder sideways, throwing them far enough to give him time to remove the sword, whose weight he holds easily in one hand despite the fact that the length indicates it’s clearly not meant to be held as such.

 

Tobirama is approaching frustrated, as this is really not how he envisioned this battle. The Hiraishin was meant to bring a swift end to at least one of his troubles, and now he’s without a sword facing both the Uchiha and an enemy of unknown power. The chakra he’s getting is crushingly heavy and yet impossibly small, dark and slippery and shell like and… not alone althouthough its owner is clearly singular. Aburame is his first thought, but even that doesn’t quite fit. His sword is in their hand now, held with all the effort he may spare a small stick. Square red lensed goggles hide their eyes, so he has no indication of their next move. That they were able to throw Madara aside like an unruly child is not a good sign, as he’d been able to feel the amount of chakra the Uchiha had channeled into his movements. Hashirama has alighted at his side, sword drawn and ready, but it is Madara who attacks.

 

Hashiramas’ Mokuton forms just in time to block Madara’s Grand Fireball, cupping it inward so that it swirls around the stranger. When the smoke clears and the wood sinks back into the earth, Tobirama is expecting burnt, twisted remains. What he gets is the same man standing in only the strange grey yukata, feet buried in ashen remains of what was most likely his trousers. The sword is still in his hand, sans handle and red hot, and the goggles are still firmly in place. Tobirama can see his chest heaving, but is almost struggling to absorb that the man is still  **alive** past the fact that he can see a long, hairless tail lashing between his legs. Black veins are crawling out behind the lenses like some perverse imitation of the Byakugan. Ominous rumbling draws his attention to clouds that had been absent moments ago. Their opponent tenses turned toward the Uchiha and  **moves** at a speed that nearly blurs into Shunshin range.

 

His brothers Mokuton extends thick limbs to protect his rival-friend, only to be cut down by the glowing hot sword. There is unnaturally loud thunder and Tobirama is hit by a crushing heavy wave of  **hurt-angry-catch-kill-FEAST** before  **stop-trap-contain** centered in the same body responds. There’s a crack so loud it pops his ears, and he watches as liquid electric fire the physical equivalent of the combined chakra of all present descends from the heavens. Madara scrambles out of the way just in time (what a shame) to avoid the wave of blistering heat that follows. The recipient roars in agony, which climbs higher and higher through the decibels until it’s a screech that has everyone pressing hands over their ears. It stops when the lightning (there is no other word for it) does, and Tobirama is again surprised to see his accidental summons in one, albeit smoking, piece.

 

He’s curled in a fetal position, unmoving, in the center of a several meter wide crater. The earth is raised in veins of what appears to be crystal, glistening white hot. The black is receding from his face, seemingly chased back to from whence it came by crawling white helixes. Tobirama knows a seal when he sees one, but never has he witnessed one so volatile in its enactment. The yukata is still present and unscathed, shimmering with its’ own set of white seals, as are the goggles. Senju and Uchiha stand side by side, animosity momentarily forgotten in favour of the greater threat, and Hashirama extends Mokuton vines that blister in the heat to turn over the corpse. 

 

Three of them scream when there’s a very alive grunted huff of pain.


	2. Always Me

I’m still swimming though the jolting soup of overstimulation when someone grabs my glasses. The lightning knocked me out cold, and I can feel distinct pins and needles creeping along my spine as my central nervous system regenerates. My eyes are assaulted by painfully bright light and the headbutt is entirely reflexive. The nasal girly screech and crunch brings me a vague sort of satisfaction through the disorientation. Squeezing my eyes shut does very little to help relieve the pain, and the faint respite only makes it all the worse when my primary lids are peeled open again. Red eyes are a little blurry through the protective film firmly closed over my irises, but I can see well enough when the spinning black dots meld together to form three spokes and a central ring. “Tsukoyomi!” It’s spat in my face in a way that makes it sound almost like a sneeze, and is accompanied by blood and spittle. There’s a tingling in the forefront of my brain that’s distinct in comparison to the electricity that’s still flashing between my fried neurons - and the I feel like a steel magnet in a ct scan.

 

Tobirama is holding the head of their uninvited guest firmly in place so that Izuna can pry open his eyes. He’s fascinated by the secondary lids, much like those of that swamp reptile he’d encountered in the Land of Rivers that the locals had called ‘crocodile’ so reverently. Slit pupils further the analogy, contracted so tight they’re almost non-existent.  _ So very sensitive, perfect for a predator _ . Izuna is the Genjutsu expert of the Uchiha brothers, wields it like a precise scalpel where Madara swings it about as if it were his gunbai. It’s strange to watch his eyes swirl into Mangekyou, stranger still that it’s not directed at him. When the Uchiha snarls a nasally ‘Tsukoyomi’ he’s sorely tempted to hit the man. How will his unwilling summon speak if he’s asleep?!

 

Today, it seems, is Tobiramas’ day for double edged surprises. Phenomenal Sensor that he is, he can feel exactly when the Uchihas  **hot-smokey-electric** reaches out to grasp the mind of the creature whose head he is holding still in preparation for the infamous torture technique. He can, therefore, also feel exactly when things go awry. Red slit eyes, unlike in colour to both the glow of the Sharingan and his own deep port, focus on the pupils of the Uchiha. Izunas’ chakra is met by  **endless-crushing-deep-void** and  **held** . Black crawls outward of the pupil and inward from the sclera, and the ring of dried blood red shrinks ever smaller. Four other signatures flare in time with beautifully complicated Seals on his summons chest. Tobirama cannot help but feel just a little proud - even as Madara, Hikaku and Hashirama scramble closer - as never in history has someone defied the Genjutsu that trumps all others.

 

My brain is  **itching** and the other person scrabbling around in my head  **tickles** and it’s rather annoying. The others, I’m never truly alone in my own mind, are lingering on the fringes of my own awareness. Yellow Submarine is playing in the background - what a strange choice brain, you’re losing your touch.  **_It_ ** stirs in it’s slumber, rolling over to look at their guest.  **_Company_ ** it says;  **_idiot mortal boy_ ** . My wardens spring into action and in an effort to keep the mortal -  **_plaything, we haven’t had a toy in so loooong_ ** \- safe they  **push** , and the itchy crawling disappears.  _ Thank god, I have a headache and I’m fucking tired _ .

 

He’s rather annoyed with Anija, to put it mildly. This is  **his** summon, called here by  **his** Hiraishin. Taking it home to  **his** lab seems the next logical point in things, and it’s being denied him. He’s aware he’s being petulant as he crossed his arms. Madaras’ speech about it being fireproof and Sharingan resistant, and therefore ‘a perfect weapon against the Uchiha’ irks him further.  _ If they varied their techniques, they wouldn’t have this problem _ he thinks, sneering to himself. And they’re right, it would be perfect as an instrument, assuming it can be controlled to any degree. But it’s also so much  **more** than that. When he snaps at Hashirama to construct a shelter in neutral territory, it’s for the sake of not losing this curiosity to Uchiha prisons. He smacks the tearful idiots hand, ‘Oh Tobi! You’re sharing with them’, when it reaches for his shoulder. He’s protecting his own interests here, nothing more. He moves away from the Emotions before they give him hives.

 

I’m standing on the very top of the Empire State Building. Not on the viewing platform, but next to the massive needle antena. I’m well aware I’m dreaming, I can feel their presence and  **my own** up here with me. The ploy to keep me calm is one my tag along wardens have used many times before when they need to adjust the parameters of things. They overreacted earlier, and others were put in danger. I watch the first sliver of the sun rise over the sea, as I have done so many times before, and take the time to collect my thoughts. It’s always been strange how my inhabitants remember things so much better than I consciously manage to. I can hear the early morning gridlock and the foghorn from the harbour. I’m worried about my boy, not my son but precios nonetheless. I know she’ll take care of him, but he’s only five. So small that he almost disappears in the pillows of the particularly squishy leather couch in the library. I could pay them an illusionary visit, but that would feel like a cheap comfort and an insult to them.  **_You’re not in need of them, we have all we require._ **

 

Hashirama is a prick, Madara is a pain in his ass and Izuna is a right irritating fucking cunt. Toka he will forgive for laughing, partially because she’s keeping a watchful eye on the Uchiha and partially because he expects nothing else of his cousin. Their clans have been ordered to retreat to their respective compounds, Toka is here as a precaution and the pony tailed Uchiha whose name he really couldn’t be bothered to remember at the moment seems to be filling a similar niche. There’s a ceasefire in effect by order of the two clan heads while they sort this muddle. 

 

At nineteen, while not quite fully grown, Tobirama is neither small nor weak. Not as broad as his brother, but no less muscled for all his are whipcord slender. When he bends to collect his… point of interest, and closes the long yukata as a half conscious nod to privacy, Madara snorts and sneers “Afraid to sully your hands? It’s only fit for one demon to touch another, Senju”, Anija turns tearful eyes on his friend and pleads that he be nice to Tobirama. And because he’s a genius and far from unobservant, he’s more than aware that Hashirama does not counter the name calling. It would smart, but they’re not as close as once they were and Hashirama has always thrown words around with little care.

 

He does no more than roll his eyes at the elder Uchiha as he bends to pull his charge across his shoulder in a firemans’ carry. Izuna outright laughs when he pitches forward, imbalanced by the sheer weight that lands his knees in the dirt. It, he, they, are heavier than Hashirama by a startling margin. It feels as though an Akimichi has just sat on his shoulders. He growls at the little prat and channels more chakra into his spine and legs.”Tobi do you need me to-” Anija is already reaching to him and he turns his impressive scowl on his overbearing sibling and it’s enough to still the thought in its tracks. He very carefully does not huff when he stands and shuffles the dead weight until it sits comfortably. Fever warmth, frighteningly bright in its intensity, heats the back of his neck through the fur of his collar. The breathing is steady, however slow it may be, so he spares it no more than a moment’s consideration. He startles when the dangling tail catches against his arm and curls around it as an affectionate snake would. Toka sniggers in glee when he tries shaking his arm free only to have it grip him all the tighter.

 

Tobirama is well used to the sentimental foolery of his elder brother, and therefore is not surprised or impressed when they stop at the banks of the Nakano where once two dreaming children met. Madara scowls, but makes no further remarks, this is perfect neutral territory. Izuna is eyeing him and the water wearily, more than conscious that Tobirama is an unparalleled Suiton user. Tobirama, for his part, has other things on his mind and only registers the tactical advantage as  _ a good way to restrain the Summon if need be _ . Anija constructs a crude sort of Mokuton hut over the shallower parts of the river “exactly fair”, and he’s glad that the cube (that’s essentially what it is, a cube with a door) is a simple thing. His brother, while not short on imagination, is a shitty architect. Tobirama has seen some… questionable projects when he let his sibling build without his guidance.

 

Madara reluctantly approves of the Senju idiots work. The walls are  **thick** , a good foot of solid wood. There is only one point of entry, perfect to trap and hold Tobirama’s creature. He’s also glad that the cube is lower than all the surrounding trees, he is determined to avoid fluke lightning for however long it’s possible. His back is blistered and he’s convinced he lost a few inches of hair to the heat of a thousand Katon Grand Fireballs.The water makes him a little uncomfortable, Tobirama is a formidable fighter; cunning and quick. In the back of his mind lingers the feeling that he came very close to losing Izuna today. Frustrated directionless anger curls his gloved fingers into fists within his sleeves. His gunbai rests on his back, gouged with claw marks from the beast that he now watches Tobirama lower to a wooden table. It remains unconscious, tail curled firmly around the Senjus arm.

 

Toka is the one to grip the grey sleeves of his summons remaining clothing, so eager to tease her cousins, and Tobirama silently steels himself to withhold a discomforted frown. He’s not fond of stripping away the last of this beings dignity, but the practicality of removing the possibility of hidden weapons trumps his reluctance. Toka rolls it over onto its belly and pulls its arms up above its head. The long yukata parts down the center until the lower back and he is a little tempted to brush fingers over the base of the thick tail. There is a jagged scar circling the appendage a hands width away from where it merges with the spinal cord. He wishes so badly to  **touch** , identify the pock marks and torn edges with the pads of his fingers. The tissue is badly damaged, and he’s surprised the tail remains.

 

Madara tilts his head at Hikaku, and the teen grips the creatures legs firmly. He and Hashirama nod in unison at the vicious looking Senju kunoichi. She takes a deep breath, and  **yanks** the remaining article of clothing off their prisoner. Madara, standing at its flank, almost takes a solid hit to the face when an additional appendage appears where there had been none before. He grips it reflexively, and is almost a little disgusted when his fingers close on long, thin bones in hot leathery skin. Sharingan sharpness allows him a clear glimpse of Tobirama receiving similar treatment, dragged backward to Hikaku by the tail gripping his arm. The creature startles to full wakefulness when the Senju grasps the appendage, right hand newly mobile as the tail lashes to wind around Hikaku’s forearm. Wood Style stretches the table to incase the occupant and sends it careening into fury.

 

Fingers on my wings startle me out of my dreamscape. Sluggish air tickles my bare skin as I attempt to stand, and a moment later the floor swishes up to meet me. Panic clogs my throat and seizes my muscles, and there’s two identical noises of pain to match the sound of breaking bones as I try to  **get away** . I can hear garbled German that the detached part of me knows is an illusion, but it doesn’t  **help** . Blood floods my mouth as I bite down on a steel bit that isn’t there and  **_I’m not going back I’m not I’m not, no soft flesh to sink into it’s wrong it’s wrong they hurt I hurt stopstopstop!_ **

 

As an active shinobi with plenty of experience with stressful regression and waking nightmares, Tobirama reacts immediately to the hitch in breath. It struggles under the Mokuton, all libs jerking madly in a desperate attempt at freedom. Three active Sharingan spin madly. Izuna flashes across the room to aid the Uchiha whose grossly crushed arm is in danger of being ripped off completely by the constricting tail, raising his sword to cut it off even as Madara reaches for his gunbai. Toka is hissing in pain from two snapped forearms even as she holds the creature down. Tobirama makes it just in time to block the swing of the gunbai at its head, and does what is standard procedure to him in regards to his summons having an episode. He grasps it firmly by the nape, fingers digging into soft short hair to touch raised scars. The effect is instantaneous, despite it not being the mindless calm he would have invoked in any of his cats. Its entire body slumps, but its not still. It trembles,  _ in fear of me _ .

 

I swallow blood and a chunk of what is most likely tongue when fingers touch me  **there** . I can feel the Wardens fluttering madly in my chest, but  **_they are only hurt we did not kill them_ ** . I wait for the needle and the static. My spine aches with how firmly I hold my body still  **_be good for them be good be good or we hurt_ ** . White hair at the very edge of my achingly bright vision  **_why is my boy here - protect him - be still and good - KILL THEM keep him safe - STILL!_ **

 

Madara stops his gunbai just as it touches pale fingers. He can see short, raised black hair ruffle in the breeze of his aborted decapitation. He snarls and sneers at the Senju, but the white demon moves not a millimeter before him. Doesn’t look directly at him even as he turns his head. Red eyes are glued to where pale fingers hold tan skin. The wood of the cube is creaking under the force of riled chakra. Hashirama has one hand on his shoulder, and one on the kunoichis bicep. She is shaking with adrenaline, but her grip on black clawed hands remains firm even as sickle talons dig into bleeding flesh.

 

 _It is a truly unique experience_ , he thinks, _to touch one person and feel five chakra signatures_. The body beneath his hand is roiling with raw power. It’s all he can see in his Sensor Sight. Four swirling hot and one that is dark but bright all at the same time. It overshadows all else until it’s just himself, in danger of disappearing, and them. The bright stars that were Madara and Hashirama are now sputtering candle flames by comparison. _It should be dead_. A physical body containing so much power should not exist. He is vaguely aware of someone calling his name, but there is no space in his aching head for them. This… **Thing** under his hand is swirling so madly with conflicting emotions of **protect-destroy-hold-kill-ponce-still** that he is getting a little sick. Words are not his forte, and he does what comes naturally, stretching out a thread thin tendril of his own to **feel** and **show** and **calm** , and that black thing in the very center rushes to meet him. It is such a small thing in his Sight, but so incredibly **heavy** and **dense**. It wriggles under his attention, extending to meet him only to be stopped by the other four. Tobirama wants to **know**.

 

“Tobirama.” It’s spoken slowly and garners nary a twitch of the man’s eyelids. Madara can see with crystal clarity the absent look on the Senju’s face. This would be the perfect time to strike, and yet he holds, wound tight in anticipation of another attack. Hashirama releases him to move to his brother and grasps his head, steering his gaze up. Pupils so dilated they almost eclipse the iris stare blindly ahead, and Hashirama gives his little brother a gentle shake to his name. “Tobira, look at me.” Sparks a blink, and eyes focus slowly. The elder barely manages to catch his sibling when the teens knees buckle. “Anija, I’m… Tend to Toka, let me sit.” The pale fingers move slowly in black hair, and the tension seeps out of the creature, lax limbs spreading and flowing over the edges of the table as Tobirama seats himself in the crook of a wing arm. The fingers remain where they are.

  
Putting Tobirama’s creature to sleep is a matter of a senbon to the spinal cord. There is, rather unfortunately in Madara’s opinion, no permanent damage. The White Demon himself is still moving as though someone has rung his head like a brass bell, _ sensory overload my fucking backside _ , and refuses to get out of the way. When they pry its mouth open, Madara unleashes a Very Manly Squeal when the bitten of tongue is wrigeling as it  **regrows** . He’s almost sick on the spot, waching body parts regenerate that fast is utterly disgusting. On the plus side, it means he can cut off as many limbs as he likes when he loses his temper, and he won’t have to worry about killing it.  _ Obviously I am perfectly capable of thinking positive thoughts _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I'm not... Entirely confident in my work, so any encouragement does wonders for me. Criticism is appreciated. I want to know what you think.


	3. Careful Inspection

They sleep for three days, and it annoys Tobirama to no end. Yes, it gives him the opportunity to look them over properly, but there’s only so much he can learn without speaking to them. It also means that he spends twelve irritable hours playing a strange sort of Musical Chairs with Uchiha Madara. The hair on the back of the back of his neck is probably never going to lie totally flat again. It also means he cannot devote all of his attention to the subject of his curiosity, as he keeps the Uchiha in his sights at all times. Madara says nary a word, and seems determined to kill Tobirama by scowling and glaring at him.  _ He’s going to be sorely disappointed _ .

The White Demon Senju is… strange. Insane is the word that springs to mind actually. Despite keeping half an eye on Madara at all times, he’s almost morbidly fascinated with the sleeping creature on the table. It seems Hashirama’s tactile natured is a feature he shares with his younger sibling, though it seems to be restricted to those who cannot escape it. Every scar is traced with pale fingers as the Senju mutters to himself. They linger on some of the larger ones, though it is hard to distinguish where one ends and another begins. As Clan Head, he sees a deals with Elders regularly enough to be reminded that they fought to attain their age.  _ Not that it means they’re any less worth shouting at, but I have yet to see anyone with that many scars _ .

While albinism can cause ocular issues, they have yet to manifest in a form other than reading glasses. Tobirama can see just fine, and it’s easy to draw conclusions of severe torture based on the scar tissue all over their body. There are rope burns on their ankles, and jagged indented scarring up their right calf. What he can see of both thighs is torn to strips by what he can easily recognise as a bladed cat ‘o nine tails. He brushes light fingers over the base of that strong tail, feeling the difference between pockmarked scar tissue left by some unidentifiable instrument. The appendage wriggles a little under his touch, much like the tail of a cat when held still. It remains firmly held and sunk partially into the wood of the table. Tobirama trails a hand up their spine to the base of what must be powerful wings, if the thick muscle is anything to go by. Here to there are marks of pain. Shiny, smooth skin hints that one of the wings had been torn almost totally off.

Tobirama spends idle time in the compound examining what remains of his summons clothing. The goggles are a fairly simple ensemble, designed to fit neatly in on the ridges of the eye socket. They are also, he discovers,  **very** dark. He can scarcely see his hand in front of his face when he tests them outside.  _ More sensitive than I thought, a match in a dark room would probably be almost to bright for them _ . The adjustable little belt would allow them to sit snug against his face, and the fact that only one of the holes is slightly stretched by the buckle tells him that his summon is the only one to wear them.

That grey yukata, cut so outside the norm, is made of the softest leather and lined in what must be black silk. It also contains a great many pockets, home to some rather… interesting effects. He finds the following: a necklace of teeth in glass, a black ring, a leatherbound book (which is immediately set aside for further inspection later), a small paper packet, a rolled leather pouch of lockpicks and a slender steel case.

The jewels, morbid as they seem, are set to one side of the kitchen table. Opening the crumpled paper packet grants him small speckly sweets that smell so strongly of mint that his eyes water, and he puts those aside as well. Perhaps he can use them on Anija in the morning. The steel case contains only folded paper, some white and some green.  _ Money _ he concludes.

The little leather bound book has been saved for last. It bears no external identifying marks, and a sweep of chakra reveals no traps. He still uses a pair of chopsticks to nudge the cover open, fully prepared to leap away. When nothing occurs for a full five minutes, he concludes that he is mostly safe from explosions and gases. The writing is slanted but clear, words written in an alphabet that he has only encountered among scholars in Wave country and engineers in Iron.

Their hand, if it is indeed that of his Summon, is angular and a little untidy. The characters all touch, but are not connected, and the first few pages are names, dates, and lists. In between he finds tiny sketches, mostly of cats and what appears to be towers and clouds. Interspersed amidst blank pages, seemingly at random, are more detailed drawing of two people.

Some are of a woman, curvaceous and apparently rather short, with an expressive face and a large scar maring her left cheek.  A boy is most popular, small and slender with no sketches depicting him as older than a small child. He appears with books and a rather large cat in all sorts of positions. Near the end of the book, after a great many blank pages, he appears as a newborn carefully drawn swaddled in blankets in the arms of the woman. It is the only illustration of them together, and Tobirama almost snaps the book shut, suddenly feeling like a most vile intruder.

At the very back of the book are more sketches. These are precise, a documentation of something. Circles upon circles filled with strange symbols unlike any language he has seen. They range from simplified pictograms to square characters, filling pages with no indication of how they are to be read. Each circle to its own dialect, numbered at the corner of the page ranging one to four. Many numbers have been scratched and replaced, with increasingly angry looking digits.

On the very last two pages are two diagrams of four rings and a black swirl, drawn once in a two dimensional form and once as an almost ball like structure. Suddenly Tobirama  _ understands _ . This is the seal on their chest, magnificent in detail and so foreign to him that it stumps him completely. So carefully documented with scrupulous attention that he can only come to one conclusion; his Summon hasn’t a fucking cooking clue how it works. He’s equally at a loss, and spends three hours in the middle of the night at the kitchen table thinking about it.

It’s two hours before dawn when Tobirama visits the owner of the little leather book. Hikaku and Touka, both healed by his elder brother, stand guard over the little cube. His cousin hands him a lantern when he goes inside, and they both ignore the Uchiha teen frowning at them. Inside there is only slow,  _ far too slow _ , breathing to be heard. He’s well aware of the two impromptu guards leaning their heads in to watch as he sets the little paper lantern down on a smooth portion of wood over Their back. Their face is cast in shadow, and he can barely see the tiny twitch of a nose in a gentle sniff as he steps around. They are firmly blindfolded and sunk ribs deep into the wood of the table. They won’t be going anywhere.

Tobirama slides hesitant fingers into silky soft hair, cut in a rather overgrown undercut, and lifts their head off the wood. The slow breathing stutters, but They do not wake. He can just see the pointed outer tips of Their teeth past lips parted by a jaw slack with sleep,  _ very unique _ . A gentle pat on the cheek doesn’t stir Them to wakefulness, and neither does a light shake. He’d pinch Their nose closed, but he’s not interested in losing fingers. He will wait until dawn to try again, and he spends the hours between now and then studying what he can see of Their skin.

Madara finds Tobirama with the creature just before first light, running light fingers over scars lit by lamp light. The Senju looks up at him through snowy lashes as he approaches the table, tensing when they come to stand only a little more than an arms’ length apart. They do not speak, do not bow in greeting for no pleasantries exist between the two of them. They are each their brothers rival, hated enemies.

Hashirama arrives before any fighting can erupt, and Izuna is not far behind. The Elder Senju greets the younger with a grinning “Hello Tobira” and an attempt at a hug that is easily sidestepped. It’s the heavy thump of Hashirama’s hip against the table and the subsequent loud whinging that wakes the creature on it.

They all startle at the deep growl, and Hashirama scrambles back to stare over his siblings shoulder. Izuna snickers a little, and is replied to with a rumble that Tobirama can feel in the soles of his feet and vibrating in his chest. He sees the glint of long fangs in the dawn light as they’re bared in a snarl, and pretends he can’t hear his brother whimper a little at the sight.  _ Hard to believe the God of Shinobi is such a mouse _ , he’s surprised that it isn’t laughter that Hashirama’s foes die of.

“I am Senju Tobirama.” And  **that** voice I remember well enough. There are five others in the room, but it’s the little shit that stabbed me that speaks first. There’s wood pressing in from all sides, barely giving me space enough to breathe. **_We should crush them_ ** , and I’m not going to argue I  **want** to like I’ve wanted few things. “I know you understand, I saw your writings.”  _ You creeping little fuck _ .

Tobirama watches Them absorb that, and he’s aware he most likely crossed a line. There’s the hissing of a long inhalation, a pause, and then it’s let out as a truly furious rumble that sends primal chills of fear skittering up his spine and sets his kunai jungling in his belt. There’s another collective step back from the table, and Tobirama stands alone only by virtue of being  **very** good at suppressing his hind brain. He moves to stand in front of Them, shrugging off his brother’s hand. “It’s my technique that was the cause of your being here, and as such you are my responsibility. Mine. I have every right to know all I need to about you.” He watches Their fingers, coated in black and tipped in claws as long as the two bones of his middle finger, sink into the wood and splinter it to pulp as though it were soft clay.

Let the records show that as a sane human and an Older Brother, Anija is appropriately reluctant to release his very angry Summon. It speaks to his faith in Tobirama that he does as asked. Touka shifts with discomfort and the Uchiha palm their weapons, but remain where they are as Hashirama brings his hands together. They are on him the moment They’re able to move, and powerful wings pin his arms above his head even as his feet are held down firmly by Theirs. Anija has his sword drawn and at Their neck in an instant, and this time Their growl doesn’t waver him.

Mokuton shivers with anger around them, but Tobirama locks resolute eyes with his brother. He’s sure of this. “You cannot kill me.” This close he can smell Their breath, foul with blood that They’d swallowed and a long sleep. Their lips are parted in a sneering snarl, teeth glistening with saliva, tapering to points on the outer edges and likely razor sharp.  _ To cut like scissor blades _ , and Their incisors are just over an inch long. Their tongue wets dry, cracked lips, rasping and textured like a cats. They are taller than him, Tobirama realises, likely taller than his brother by a good half head. They take a gravelly breath.

“Mmmm clever little thing then. Lookin’ through my stuff. Allow me to set something straight for you; I may not be able to kill you on purpose, but don’t test me. I can absolutely make you a head shorter if you push  **_Us_ ** too far. I’m not a pet, I belong to no one.”

They’re pressed so close that he can feel Their voice in his chest, noses almost touching. They lift a hand to push the bandages up over one eye, blatantly ignoring the press of Hashirama’s sword and Touka’s naginata against their shoulders. One black veined eye flutters open, second lid flicking up and turning it a little milky, and locks on his own. Blade-edge thin pupil regards him, and though They’re squinting and the eye waters with discomfort, They hold his gaze.

He’s regarded for almost a minute in uncomfortable silence, interrupted only by the sound of those nearby breathing, before They release him and pull the bandage down. “You’ll return me.” It’s not a question. They cross their arms, entirely unconcerned about Their nudity, and the great wings tuck themselves carefully against Their side. “And if I do not know how?” They regard him with a raised brow, blind and yet perfectly aware. “You’re going to have to figure it out then, eh, Senju Tobirama. And return my property. There’s no limits on maiming, I might just clear you of a few fingers. Punishment fit for a  _ thief _ .” Hashirama and Touka hiss at the treat, but Tobirama just shrugs.

“There will be conditions.”

“I’m not a dog to be trained with treats.”

“The conditions will remain nonetheless. You have no accessible chakra, no power for Jutsu though you seem to take a beating in stride.”

“Taking a beating will be enough, I’m patient and you’re equally… limited.”

“A fair bargain then.”

“I’m listening.”

“I’ve given you my name, in the spirit of fair exchange I’m asking that the courtesy be returned.”

“Lucifer, like the Star.”


	4. A little Time

Lucifer is very much a he and not a they, Tobirama has asked.  **He** is also a rather reclusive and recalcitrant person, and getting him to say more than ‘yes’ or ‘no’ is like pulling teeth for anyone who isn’t Hashirama- whose inane questions he seems content to answer freely. The elder Senju seems to delight in pestering him with anything and everything that comes to mind, ranging from how old he is “At least a hundred” to whether he’s able to fly above clouds “Depends on what kind of clouds you mean”. Hashirama takes all answers at face value, no matter how impossible and vague they may be. It drives everyone else, Madara and Tobirama especially, rather up the wall.

The Senju and Uchiha have just finished a meeting with regard to how exactly things are to proceed, each equally unhappy to hand Tobirama’s Summon over to the other. Lucifer, for his part, seems perfectly at home in the forest and had signed a blood contract of neutrality and non-violence amicably enough. Allowing them to bind his wings had been a long argument though, and he’d aquiessed only after a lengthy crying session by Hashirama.

Madara is content to sulk at the far end of the Mokuton table, and Tobirama wonders if his hair will ever lie relatively flat again. The elder Uchiha has taken a rather firm sort of dislike to their interloper, likely compounded by the fact that shouting hadn’t bothered him in the slightest. Tobirama turns his head to watch as Hikaku, the youngest among them at fifteen, approaches Lucifer of his own volition for the very first time.

 

“Which is the star that bears your name?” I’ve heard him coming, and my head tilts toward the boy. He’s barely shoulder height and rather weedy. He’s nervous, feet fidgeting with the pebbles along the river bank. I lift a hand, slowly because I can rather fuzzily remember shattering his arm, and point to the bright pin prick of Venus in the purple dusk sky. The only star familiar to me. “I share the name with a rather unsavoury character, and it’s led to a lot of bad prejudice because people so often forget just who he was originally.”

Hikaku frowns, and it strikes me rather abruptly that it’s rather likely that Christ may not have been born yet. May actually never  **be** born, and I’m an odd sort of relieved. Dealing with fanatical Christians has been somewhat of an ordeal, being an atheist who bears the Devil’s name. “Unsavoury character?” Madara, who it seems has finally had enough of sulking like a child, comes to stand on Hikaku’s other side

“Yes.”  _ I’m being petty, but with a temper like that how could I possibly resist _ . I can already see him puffing up to shout again, and it’s just too bad for him that going through two World Wars makes the screaming more funny than scary. I scratch lightly against the tingling crossed out swastika scar above my heart. “What were they originally?” Poor Hikaku is desperate to avoid being stuck between a rock and a loud place, and I can’t help but take a bit of pitty on the boy.

“Lucifer was the Angel of the Morning, the strongest of Heavens Warriors. He was cast out after a… complicated spat with God, and became the first of the Fallen and the ruler of Hell after a rather long and bloody war.”

“What did they fight about?”

“What all holy beings seem to fight about; humanity. As far as I’m aware, Lucifer proposed genocide upon realising that the mortals couldn’t be saved from themselves. God disagreed and cast out his best warrior because he simply could not bear the thought of wiping his favourite creation from the face of the earth. A shame too, you humans seem incapable of anything other than bloodshed.”

Both Hikaku and Madara look like they’re trying to swallow around a sizable pebble, but at least the Uchiha Clan Head has shut his mouth. I’m aware that I sound a little resentful, and I don’t stop the parting shot of “I suppose my being Ruler of Hell makes setting fire to me a little difficult”. Madara sputters behind me, and my smirk is entirely hidden from his view as I wander down the river.

Tobirama is following me, and I’m well aware he’s been listening in but I’m content to ignore him. Living this long has had the spectacular benefit of helping build both my fuze and my patience, though I’ve been sliding something terrible in regards to temper these last few days. I will admit, he’s good at this ‘shinobi’ thing, and if I was anything less than my unnatural self I likely wouldn’t know he’s there. 

As it is, Tobirama is just tangible enough to my senses to be irritating. I come to a stop and so does he, foot falls timed perfectly to mine. It takes a little conscious effort to stop my tail from flicking in annoyance, free to move thanks to how the hakama are tied. “Yes?” And thank fucking god my voice doesn’t betray my mood. He seems to debate pretending he isn’t there, but I turn to meet his eyes before he has the chance.

 

Lucifer turns half way to face Tobirama, and the red of his goggles glint in the dying light. Tobirama knows he’s being ‘a bit of a creep’, as Anija says, but this is someone new. Some _ thing _ new, and he wants to push, to find out where all the lines lie. His steps are slow as he approaches, and Lucifer doesn’t back away. That tail is still, too stiff for it not to be at least a little forced.

Tobirama comes to a stop well within arms reach and just far enough within the realm of personal space to be a little oppressive. He’s a little put out that he can’t loom the way he does with almost everyone else, Lucifer is half a head taller than both him and Hashirama. It must be part of why Madara is so angry, chin height even with all that hair. Still, crowding the taller male gets him no reaction.

“That star wasn’t there before you got here.” It’s true, Tobirama would most certainly have seen it before, and he hasn’t. Lucifer hums, deeper than most people would likely ever manage, and tips his head. Still unbothered then,  _ perhaps just a little more _ . Tobirama is generally not as openly tactile as his elder brother, prefering to keep any touches restricted to home’s closed doors. This time, however, he extends a hand to trace one finger over that scar that he’d seen Lucifer reach for. It looks a little like the Hyuuga Curse Seal, skewed and struck through and right over the mans’ heart. “And what of this?” His hand is grabbed before the tips of his fingers can so much as brush over the raised skin. 

The claws are back and Lucifer is growling. He’s struck a nerve. Above them thunder rumbles, lightning flickering in an almost clear sky. Chakra in that shell stirs, dark and deep, like a sleeping beast twitching in it’s dreams and the pebbles rattle around them. Hashirama and Madara join them in a heartbeat, the former laying a hand over where Tobirama’s is held. “That’s ‘nun-ya’.” There’s a collective frown before Madara sneers out a repeat of the word. “Yeah, as in ‘nun-ya business’. Don’t touch me.” Touka sputters a laugh behind them, and Tobirama holds his free hand up in surrender. His wrist is released and Lucifer makes to  walk away. The sky rumbles once more above them, and Lucifer does the full body version of rolling one’s eyes, waving a hand as if to clear the air. The last of the clouds disperse.

He turns his back and clears a the little mound of pebbles in one stride before walking into the encroaching forest. The oddity of his silhouette makes it hard to see him in shadows that seem to stretch out toward him like a Nara’s Shadow Bind, though Tobirama can’t sense any use of that heavy chakra on his behalf. “Tobirama?” His brothers eyes are dark in the evening light, but the crease of his brow reads as worried confusion. “Do not be so concerned Anija, I only pushed enough to see where the fault lines lie. The scar seems to be a Curse Seal turned on its side, cut into his flesh just where the heart is. It is struck through.” Hashirama absorbs this with a purse of his lips, and the thumb of the hand still clasped over his wrist rubs a distracted circle in his skin. “Best not push too far, he seems powerful. Maybe more so even than I am.” Madara scoffs in disbelief, looking to the younger Senju for a contradiction.

When none comes he frowns, and Tobirama feels the smoulder of the man’s chakra as he extends it. Sometimes it slips him by that Madara is a sensor in his own right. “What the fuck…” Madara turns to the forest, looks right at where Lucifer is sitting nestled in the roots of a tree, and frowns. “It’s… different. He feels solid almost, hard and slippery and sort of plural.” Tobirama watches as the Uchiha grimmance, feels the mans chakra flutter as he does another sweep.

They both feel the moment Madara’s chakra catches, and the man snarls a little as it’s pulled in to be consumed by that hungry, dark  _ thing _ that is Lucifer and not. Madara closes his coils immediately with a soft sound that’s almost a gasp. “What the fucking hell is this creature you’ve called Senju?” Tobirama turns his gaze back to the man lounging at the edge of the forest, confined by blood bond to pacifism. “I haven’t the faintest.”

 

Hashirama approaches me when they seem to be making ready to leave. He looks like he’s not sure if I’m awake.  _ Hard to tell with the glasses on I guess _ . Still, because in all my eighty three years of consciousness I have never not enjoyed fucking around with people at least a little, I wait until his hand is almost on my bare shoulder before letting him know I’m awake. “Yes?” His almost girly scream is priceless, coming from someone almost as large as I am, as it the way he falls on his ass.

He presses a hand to his chest. “Kami but you gave me a scare, I thought you were sleeping.” I smile when I stand, only a small twitch of my lips in the right corner, and help him up. “I don’t need as much sleep as humans do. I should be good for the next week if I want to stay up.” He hums an interested sound, turning those bright puppy eyes on me. I can see every detail of his rather handsome face, it’s only a little darker than the bright discomfort of daylight.

“An hour a day is enough for me.” There’s that grin again, so open and bright as he laughs. “Otoutou is going to be rather jealous of you. He’s quite the inventor. A night owl who loves his sleep, and  _ terribly _ grumpy in the morning.” It pulls out a gleeful sort of sparkle in his eyes, an older brothers enjoyment of a younger siblings suffering. He nudges our shoulders together, a soft brush but it has me pulling away out of instinct and habit.

“Oh I’m sorry I-” I brush off a the apology with a wave of my hand. The contact is  _ nice _ , so few people actually touch me casually.  _ I guess there’s just something about what I am that either says fuck or kill to the lizard brain _ . Not that I’d be adverse to him doing the first, he’s attractive enough and my past has sort of put me off women.  _ I know she said it wasn’t my fault, but remembering enjoying it doesn’t really help. _

“Why did they torture you?” It pulls me out of my thoughts, and I turn to him in surprise. “The scars, they’re from a whip. I… can tell.” Hashirama’s eyes are soft, and I know he won’t take it personally if I dodge the question, but- he’d asked nicely. “Some of them yes. Apart from pushing my limits, it served no purpose.” I can see an apology in the set of his mouth and I wave it away before it escapes.

He gives me a long look before we start walking, and I can see more questions in his eyes. Then he shakes himself and smiles. “Would you care to join my brother and I for dinner? I know Tobirama is a little strange, but I promise he won’t try anything at the table.” I tip my head to the side, the longer portion of my undercut falling to brush my bare shoulder. “I feel obligated to warn you that I eat enough for at least four people.” Hashirama does a bit of a double take before shrugging and grinning. “As long as it’s not four actual people, it’s fine.” “I don’t like eating people, even though I don’t mind the taste.” He can’t quite manage to find something to say about that.

 

“Anija, this is a terrible idea.” They’re standing just in the shadow of the treeline, the Senju Compound wall within view. Hashirama waves off his comment, but Tobirama is well used to the ‘I’m your big brother and this is how it’s going to go’ look. He huffs and looks at Lucifer. The henge won’t stick. It’s intuition, the man’s chakra seems too incompatible with any of theirs.

Tobirama is altogether unwilling to just walk him through the front gate. He’s used to getting strange looks from his clan members, that’s not what bothers him. He’s worried about the children, insatiably curious little brats that they are. He’s not going to provide something deadly for them to just walk up to, pacifist agreement or no. Removing the binds on those wings is out of the question.

“Climb on my back.” Tobirama turns to in offering. They will notice if Hashirama just suddenly appears, but he isn’t under the same expectations. Lucifer hesitates a moment, then a hand brushes across Tobirama’s shoulders. It’s rough with calluses, catching on the silk of his yukata. The fingers are longer than Hashirama’s but the palm isn’t as broad. An arm winds across his chest, followed by another. Legs grip his hips and Tobirama startles a little when that tail winds to grip his leg. It’s awkward, there’s a lot more of Lucifer than is comfortable and the man is heavy, but he moulds to Tobirama in a way that speaks of someone that is naturally balance aware.

Tobirama walks up the trunk of the nearest tree, and there’s a soft noise of surprise next to his ear. The running jump aided by chakra crosses the cleared ring around the compound, and Tobirama redirects the momentum using the top of the wall. The run over the roofs is bluringly quick, and they land in the back garden of the main house a few breaths later.

Lucifer is quick to release him, and moves to stand to one side. He’s up wind, and a soft breeze carries the smell of him to Tobirama’s nose. It’s not at all what one would expect of someone that had spent several days in confinement. Musky and masculine certainly, but also crisp and clean. Like a blizzard in a winter where a few moments outside would mean death. It’s pleasant, and Tobirama can’t help but take a carefully deep breath.

Hashirama takes a few minutes to join them, no doubt waylaid by adoring clan members. They come together in the kitchen, and their guest seats himself cross legged at the table when his elder brother shoos him away from the cooking. Dinner is a simple affair, but Tobirama is almost shocked by how much food his brother makes. He’s almost more shocked that it’s eaten, though Lucifer turns away from them when he does so.  _ Oddly shy _ .

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know if you'd read this. Comment please, I can't sense what you think and I would very much like your opinion.


End file.
